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Hombre Trade: The
Mexican DILF at the Mall

Gavin
Rockhard

Copyright
2017

All
characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are
eighteen years of age or older.

These
stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and
controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this
ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or
illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to
illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models'
actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters
depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

It had been the slowest
day that Hernan could remember since he started at The We Sell Cells
Well, the mall kiosk shaped like a well. Hernan hated wearing the
bright pink polo shirt that came with the job.

Not
that it was emasculating for him. He was gay, so pink was an entirely
"reasonable" color for him to wear. It just didn't look
good on him. And this mall was dying anyway. A third of the
storefronts were empty, or at least, unrented -- some still had
merchandise and cash registers laying around, unclaimed, unwanted,
unsellable. Working here felt like selling ice-cream cones to the
survivors of a battle. The whole place was like an crude parody of an
apocalyptic mall-based culture. It was a mall, just full of
destruction and abandoned crap instead of actual functioning stores.

Hernan's
kiosk was in the good part of the mall though, near the drug store,
baseball cap store and comic book store, all of which did a pretty
good trade. There was also a Latino grocery on the other side of the
comic book store.

And
that was really the main reason Hernan kept the job -- it had given
him access to all the straight Latin men who came by the grocery
store, the hat store and the rest. This mall was in a neighborhood
that was now mainly Mexican, so the clientele here were mostly from
south of the border. Hernan loved straight Latin men, and he found
that if he asked right, he could nearly always suck them off on
request.

So
this job put him right in the thick of it. Most days dozens of hot
hombres
came through the mall. They swaggered and strode, all thick and hairy
and caramely. Hernan got horny just thinking about it.

But virtually nobody
came in today, not to go to the Latin grocery nor anywhere else. He
hadn't had a single customer. A few people had walked by, but no one
came to The We Sell Cells Well kiosk. The drug store had made a few
sales, to elderly people who had presumably been getting
prescriptions filled here for years and didn't want to change their
schedules now.

At last, someone sexy!

A man in a sleeveless
tee-shirt came in from outside. He had a thick tousle of black hair,
and a lean, ropy-muscled body. He had deep-set eyes and dimples.

Ah...
Hernan was disappointed. He had a babyface. He was clearly adult
enough, he had a tattoo, and he was well over six feet tall. But he
was trying to act hard yet had the face of a twelve-year old lesbian
with a wispy mustache. Hernan was disappointed. For a moment there,
before he saw his face or that the sleeveless tee-shirt just revealed
how flabby his arms were, he had thought this particular hombre
was hot.

Hernan sighed. He wasn't
bad. Babyface or no, he was cute. Hernan really wanted to run his
fingers through that gorgeous head of hair. Hair like that, he
thought, was wasted on a straight boy.

But
then there was a loud shout. Another man was there, a much older one.
He was husky and broad-shouldered. He wore a work shirt, splattered
with paint, and dark green pants that matched. "Pablo! ¡Ven
acá!"
He had a mustache that quivered when he shouted, and a scruffy beard
covering his chin and cheeks, though that looked like an accident,
like he had cultivated the mustache but then never really got in the
habit of shaving the rest of it. "Pablo! What are you doing
here?"

"Fuck off-!"

"You
had better show me un
poco de respeto,
you shit-faced punk! I swear I'll kick the bitch outta you!"

"I
told you I needed it! I gots to have the hat, pendejo-"

"What did you call
me? I ain't some shit-ass punk like the boys you hang out with-"

A loud argument erupted.
They both shouted at once in florid Spanglish. Hernan gathered that
they were brothers, but the older one seemed to be an authority -- he
had, perhaps, raised the younger one, who had not gone to work today
(to work for or with the older one) for some reason that was belied
by him being found at the mall. It apparently had something to do
with a hat (the younger one had been heading towards that hat store
when he first walked in).

That
older one was sexy as hell. Hernan wanted him. The younger one was
cute and Hernan might have given him a handjob just to pass the time.
But his older hermano
was Hernan's ideal man. He watched them argue and even exchange a few
shoves. They knocked over a calendar display and then stopped because
it was obvious someone would call the police soon.